When Spring Comes
by Lazuli Light
Summary: Harry is losing his memory. He can't remember parts of his summer holiday or his dreams. And what's happing at Hogwarts this year? AU, fifth year fic, OCs but not Marysues. I hope.
1. Chapter 1: Lost Memory

Chapter 1: Lost Memory

The first chapter of my story. Ignores the events of OotP and any future Harry Potter book. Begins the summer after fourth year.

* * *

Much of the summer holiday had passed and there were only two weeks left before September started and they were all shipped back to school. Of course, some had already started school again but for those who didn't enjoyed their last days of freedom and loathed the homework they didn't do. However, most weren't even out of bed yet though it was past noon. So much for "seizing the day."

Among the sleeping was a teenage boy. His jet-black hair lay on the pillow and eyelids fluttered over bright green eyes. He wore clothes much too large for his pale, almost unhealthily thin frame that he had fallen asleep in. Though he was fast asleep, he relished the fact. It was one of the few nights he had without nightmares.

However, he did not stay sleeping forever. He slowly cracked open an eye and rubbed at the sleep that had crusted in his eye. He groped blindly for his glasses and slid them onto his face when he found them. Then blinked in sleepy confusion at his surroundings.

Pale yellow walls glowed cheerily in the bright sunlight and handsome oak bedroom pieces shined. Thick curtains that hung at the large windows were tied back to let the sun in and warm the large room. A large silver mirror glinted from by a door that seemed to lead to the bathroom and ornate carpets sat on the smooth wood floor. Crisp, clean, warm, pale-colored sheets wrapped themselves around him.

Harry Potter stared listlessly at the room. He vaguely recognized room as one of the Leaky Cauldron's inn rooms. But why was he here? He groaned as he climbed out of bed. He couldn't remember a thing that happened. All he knew was that he wasn't with the Dursleys anymore. Half of him wanted to know and half of him didn't particularly care.

"Why on earth am I here?" he muttered to himself as he picked out clean clothes from his trunk. Yet another thing he wasn't sure on. How did he manage to dragged his trunk all the way to the Leaky Cauldron? He added that to the list of questions forming in his mind.

He pulled on the clean clothes (though still grossly oversized) he noticed a large bird cage sitting on the unused dresser. He stared at it for a moment before looking at the window. Where was Hedwig? He sighed and left the room.

He was mildly surprised when he entered the dining area of the Leaky Cauldron. It was almost empty. He blinked in surprise and looked around to be sure. The only customers were a group of wild-looking warlocks that Harry thought he had seen here before. Tom the toothless bald bartender placed plates of something in front of them and walked back to the bar. Then he caught notice of the still half-asleep boy.

"Ah, Harry, would you like some breakfast?" Tom said as he approached Harry. "Or perhaps lunch?" He nodded his head towards the clock that read two o'clock.

Harry winced when he looked at the clock. He never slept this long before. "Sure," he said, "lunch sounds good." He sat down at a nearby table as Tom took his order.

As he waited for Tom to return with food (he had just realized how hungry he was when he heard "breakfast" and "lunch") he rested his head in one hand and twirled his fork in his other. He let his mind wander to why he was at the Leaky Cauldron. However, the most he could remember was that something happened at number four, something that had made him leave. But whenever he tried to figure out what happened, something blocked it. A shooting pain didn't end his train of thought like it had other times in his life but rather something curl possessively around him. Protective but dark.

Harry scowled as he thought about this. Why would something dark be _protecting_ him of all things? Wasn't it always trying to kill him? At least, the Dark Lord Voldemort was always trying to do him in, and didn't he count as dark and evil?

__

Maybe that the difference, he thought, his scowl deepening. Whatever dark thing that was being possessive and protective didn't seem to be evil. It was just dark. But was it possible for something to be dark and not evil?

__

Yes, answered the rational part of his brain. Strangely enough, the overwrought, irrational, panicky, and a lot of other emotions situated with being in life-threatening situations part of his brain that always disagreed with the rational part stayed silent. Was it agreeing with its opposite for once?

"Maybe I am a bit mad," Harry thought aloud when he wondered about this. Did other people have parts of their mind that contradicted each other? Did _sane_ people have this? He doubted it.

"What was that?" Tom said. He was balancing Harry's meal in one hand and carried a bottle of pumpkin juice in the other.

Harry jumped, literally, out of reverie. "Nothing," he lied as Tom placed his order of fish and chips in front of him. All his thoughts about the night before and his musings on sanity vanished into thin air as he attacked the plate with gusto. He swore he heard a chuckle come from Tom but by the time he looked up Tom was already behind the bar.

"Hmm," was all that came out of Harry. Of course, that was _all_ that could come out of him since his mouth was full of mashed fish and chips. It would be rude to open his mouth. Not to mention disgusting.

* * *

A few days had passed since Harry had awoken to find himself in Room 11 of the Leaky Cauldron. He wandered around Diagon Alley (and London one day) without much purpose, waiting for Hedwig to return from wherever she was. After racking his brain all of his first day for what had happened the night before and getting absolutely nothing in return, he decided not to wonder as much anymore. He reserved that for at night when he was through wandering around.

It was mid afternoon and Harry now sat outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor with a large sundae in front of him and several bags at his feet. He had discovered the day before that several things had gone missing. His school robes, books, dragon hide gloves, cauldron, and more weren't in his trunk. He had a strong feeling that these had been left behind at the Dursleys' and knew better than to expect seeing them again. They would probably destroy them, or at least attempt to (he wasn't quite sure how they would destroy the gloves or the Monster book). All that was in his trunk were some clothes, his photo album, Firebolt, his wand, and a few Christmas and birthday presents.

Sighing, he had made a list of everything that needed to be replaced (including the Weasley jumpers though wouldn't ask for replacements) and bought for the school year. He set out the next day to get everything on the list. He managed to replace most of his books (besides the Monster Book of Monsters which the manager of Flourish and Blotts refused to stock again but promised to send him a copy), his supplies, and his school robes. He also got himself a red dress robe that didn't look much different from his school robes besides the gold bands woven at the sleeves because his green one had gone missing and dress robes were a requirement that year again.

His heart fluttered rapidly when he saw this requirement on this year's requirement list. Was there going to be something like the Triwizard tournament again? There seemed to be something special going on that year if dress robes were a requirement. He groaned aloud at this. He'd have to get a partner this year again.

__

Forget about the robes, he told himself. _Concentrate on finishing the sundae._ He shoved the long spoon into the sundae and started eating it. Since his time at the Dursleys and the diet Dudley was still on (Aunt Petunia had forced everyone yet again to participate in the suffering) Harry thought his stomach was shrinking. He had stocked up on food at the beginning of the summer as to not be caught off guard again but eventually those ran out. So when the food ran out all he had to eat were the small portions of food and his body seemed to grow accustomed to this. He could only eat one full meal and a snack a day without feeling sick (as he discovered his first day at the Leaky Cauldron). This sundae was his snack for the day.

He watched the people in Diagon Alley as he slowly ate his sundae. He recognized a few classmate and waved. He was also approached by complete strangers who shook his hand vigorously as soon as it was free from the spoon. Although the conversations never went past "Hello, how are you?" and "You're Harry Potter!" he didn't mind all that much. He was rather happy actually, as this meant that a portion of the magical population seemed to believe him about Voldemort's return. Though the attention was something he really could do without.

By the time Harry finished the sundae and paid for it the sun was just beginning to set. He headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, slowed down because of all his packages. He received a few odd stares as he trudged up to his room but nothing more. But when he entered his room he got a rather pleasant surprise.

"Hedwig!"

Harry dropped his purchases and hurried over to the dresser where his snowy owl perched, waiting for him. She hooted and flew to his shoulder. She nipped him softly on the ear after dropping a letter in his hand. She seemed so happy to see him that she didn't bother to keep up her usual "post owl" appearance and continued to nip at his ear as he sat down on the bed. Harry opened the letter and read it.

__

Dear Harry,

Are you okay? You seem pretty upset. I could barely read your writing it was so shaky. What happened? Did the Muggles do something to you?

We're going to Diagon Alley on the 24th and Mum and Dad say it's okay for you to come back to the Burrow with us. They asked why it was so urgent (I kind of ran downstairs and tackled Bill out of the way to ask them; they thought something was up) and I just told them that you might like to spend the last week of the holiday away from the Muggles.

We'll (Hermione's coming too) meet you outside Gringotts, okay?

Seen you soon-

Ron

Harry stared at the letter. He wrote to Ron? He looked over at Hedwig, who had stopped nipping at his ear and gone over to her cage in search of food. He absentmindedly wandered over to the cage and started feeding her owl treats.

__

What did I say in my letter? he thought, slightly mortified. But from what he could understand from Ron's letter, he _hadn't_ said anything in his letter. Only that something had happened and (possibly) that he was going to be at the Leaky Cauldron. Did he ask if he could come to the Burrow as well?

Harry groaned as he crumpled up the bag of owl treats. He would get some more for her tomorrow. He dragged himself back over to the large bed and plopped face first on it. More groans muffled by the bed sheets could be heard.

__

What the hell did I say in my letter? he thought, more forcefully this time as though he would suddenly be supplied with an answer. He waited but nothing came. Yet another groan.

Hedwig watched as Harry began changing into pajamas. He petted her for a bit before climbing into the large bed and falling into a fitful sleep. She flew over and perched on the headboard. She looked quite like a ghost haunting him, her pale feathers almost glowing in the dark room.

She stayed perched on the headboard all night, watching her master with large, amber eyes. She stayed as he tossed and turned fitfully in his sleep and even stayed when he started to mumble incoherently in his sleep. Only when he awoke did she move, and that was only a slight twitch of her stiff wings.

Harry's bright green eyes were wild and he was drenched in cold sweat. The dream disturbed him. It disturbed him greatly. Then he blinked and, as his train of thought hit a penny on the rails and became dislodged from the tracks, ran a bemused hand through his even more tousled hair.

He could _not _remember the dream at all.

Not a single, bloody thing.

He blinked in surprise and held his head in his hands. This never happened before! He could always remember the gist of his dreams when he woke up, even if most of the details were lost. But he couldn't remember a single thing about this dream.

He let out a groan, something he had been doing a lot lately. Hedwig hooted softly and concernedly as he pulled his legs up to his chest. He hugged them loosely and rested his head on his knees.

__

Why can't I remember anything anymore? he thought as the sun began to rise on his pale and weary face.

* * *

The end of chapter 1. Not much of an ending (or a chapter). It will go faster. By chapter 3, I think they'll be at Hogwarts, or at least on the train.

If you want a summary because you haven't read the books, go read them! If you don't want to read them, then why are you here?

If anyone is willing to beta-read, that would be great. If you do, please say so in a review. Thanks for reading. And I don't own Harry Potter (as much as I wish I did). J.K. Rowling does.

Reviews aren't necessary but welcome. Constructive criticism is very welcome but any flamers will be set on fire by their own flames.


	2. Chapter 2: Blood Without a Wound

Chapter 2: Blood Without a Wound

* * *

Lush fields and farms flashed by as the scarlet steam engine sped through the countryside. Above, the late morning sky nearly glowed blue and the clouds almost shimmered in the bright sun. However, it did not stay like this on the journey to Hogwarts. As the Hogwarts Express traveled farther north the air grew heavy and wet, not too mention cold. But no moaning and groaning winds blew, but several students moaned and groaned (and made colorful comments) for they could predict the impending rain that would arrive, even if they had no skills in divination.

One student, though, paid no attention to the rapidly changing weather that afternoon; nor to anything around him actually. Students pounded heavily on the compartment door but after awhile they left after realizing that he was never going open the door for them. They could have just unlocked the door with a spell but none of them really wanted to sit with him; if he wasn't going to open the door on his own he most likely wasn't going to be much company. And, for a few, he scared them.

Harry Potter sat in that compartment, book in hand, ignoring the world around him. The lady with snacks had already shown up so now the only people he was waiting for were his friends Ron and Hermione. He was more aware of the students banging on the door then he let on, but he had no desire to talk with them, much less have them ask annoying questions that he would rather not answer.

Recently, he had found questions to be quite annoying. It wasn't that he terribly hated all the questioning, though he did dislike it; his inability to answer was what annoyed him. Questions that he wouldn't answer because he couldn't; how was he expected to tell what happened at the Dursleys' when he couldn't remember what happened? Even his memories of the beginning of the summer were failing him.

So now, questions were a no-no. Especially after everyone realized that it was not just teenage hormones keeping him quiet. Now no one asked him questions that probed deeper than he could answer, though no one truly trusted his "I'm fine" answers anymore; not he expected them to; he didn't even believe them himself.

For a few minutes Harry was asleep, though not a normal sleep; his bright green eyes were still open and he was still sitting up straight. Then he woke up with no more than a blink and a slight movement of the shoulders. If anyone had been looking in they would have thought he was just growing stiff. Indeed, he was growing stiff, but that was not the reason he woke. Someone had been looking in; three people actually. Three people who had earned a high spot on his list of most hated people. (There is an actually list, but that's another story.)

A pale, pointed boy his age with a silver badge sauntered into the compartment, along with two heavyset boys, standing around the pale one like bodyguards. Smugness and self-thought superiority radiated from the pale boy. Harry noted that he had grown over the summer; he was not as tall as the large ones, but he was still taller than Harry, like everyone seemed to be.

"Poor, _little_ Potter," Draco Malfoy said as smugly as the smile almost permanently plastered to his face, "all alone." Harry could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Malfoy without that infuriating smirk; he also noticed the emphasis on _little_.

"Go away, Malfoy," he droned in monotone, not bothering to look up. Peripheral vision was a great thing, even with glasses.

Malfoy made no move to leave. "I guess Weasel and the Mudblood don't want to be associated with you anymore," he drawled on.

Shut up, Harry thought bitterly, putting the book aside. His hands were starting to shake violently and didn't want anyone to see that. "Go away, Ferret." He allowed himself an internal smile at the insult.

"Probably thought they would have got themselves killed if they stayed around you," Malfoy continued on as though he hadn't heard Harry, though his pale face was tinged pink. "I wouldn't blame them, as all you can do is get people killed."

"I do not- "Harry started, arms tight against his sides. His hands were balled into fists, and his knuckles were white.

"Cedric could beg to differ," Draco interrupted.

Suddenly, as he plunged his hand into his pocket for his wand, Harry felt himself loose control. Not that he leapt out of his seat and started attacking Malfoy, though he would have like that. But he literally lost control.

What the hell? he thought in distress as something burst from the back of his mind, somewhere unknown, and invaded his entire body, leaving nothing in his own control. He felt himself take on not only the role of passenger in his own body but also as a fifth, _separate_ being in the compartment. It was all very strange, seeing yourself as though it were a movie, yet still being _there_. All that in a matter of seconds.

he thought in distress as something burst from the back of his mind, somewhere unknown, and invaded his entire body, leaving nothing in his own control. He felt himself take on not only the role of passenger in his own body but also as a fifth, being in the compartment. It was all very strange, seeing yourself as though it were a movie, yet still being . All that in a matter of seconds. 

Harry saw his posture straighten, giving him the impression of some height; his face became a mask of subtle emotions. His bright green eyes burned fiercely with unseen light, almost feline. Like a tiger closing in on its prey.

Whatever that was controlling him stood, fist still clenched tightly at his sides, and said two words in a combination that he never would have said if he were in control, one of which he would have never said. The second word was "off" while the first started with an "f" and rhymed with _duck_.

Malfoy was struck silent. Slowly, he backed away from him. _This_ was not Potter. He didn't know what it was, but he did know two things: one, that it wasn't Potter, and two, that his primal instinct was telling that there was not only safety in numbers but also in distance. Somehow, he not only managed to get away from Harry without any damage done to anything other than his pride, but also without ever turning his back on him. He didn't even make a snide comment when Weasley and Granger hurried by.

Ron and Hermione shot strange looks at Malfoy as he moved quickly in a crab-like fashion; neither of them had even seen anyone walk so strangely or so quickly. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who followed after Malfoy, were just as confused, albeit they seemed to live in a state of confusion. Ron and Hermione shot identical looks at each other over Malfoy's strange behavior then continued on their way to their usual compartment.

Harry, sitting in said compartment, regained control with a jolt. He jumped in his seat as he felt himself returning, as though it had just been a dream he suddenly woke from. It certainly felt like one. He breathed deeply and leaned back in the seat. Whatever that had taken over his body returned to wherever it came from. Nothing told that it had ever taken over, except for Harry's certainty that something did force him from control.

What was that? he thought in confusion and horror, horror that it might take him over again. At least he knew what was going on. But what if next time he didn't know? What if people questioned? Would there even _be_ a next time?

he thought in confusion and horror, horror that it might take him over again. At least he knew what was going on. But what if next time he didn't know? What if people questioned? Would there even a next time? 

"Harry, are you in there?" A familiar voice floated through the door. It was Hermione.

Hermione and Ron! he yelled cheerfully in his mind. The weariness that had invaded his body after the possession vanished. He was about to slide the door open for them but stopped as he felt something on his hand.

Blood.

Blood still warm slid down his hand. He brought up the other hand, only to see it too dripped with blood. He quickly rubbed them clean on his trousers (which were thankfully old and dark and hid the blood stain). He almost considered wrapping his wounds in bandages when he noticed something.

His hand, though slightly stained from blood, bore no wounds. No cuts, scratches, or even fingernail markings marred his hands.

He turned his hands over. Nothing was much different on this side, except that he could see that the tips of his fingernails were stained red, red with blood.

What the hell?

"Harry?" came Ron's voice. "Are you there?"

Shaking his head, Harry ignored the mysteries of his hands and slid open the door. Worrying about what happened could come later, now that his friends were here.

Hours had gone by, and night had fallen. A light rain fell on the students as they boarded off the train. The first years grumbled slightly in confusion and from being wet. The older students were just glad that it wasn't storming like the year before.

"Is there anything you have to do?" Harry asked, looking around the station for Hagrid, the giant of a man (though he was only half-giant). He took off his glasses and cleaned them, only to find them becoming clouded in a matter of seconds again. He groaned and removed them. He wasn't sure if he hated light rain or straight downpours more, but he knew he hated rain. And coming inside on a cold day so his glasses fogged up. _That _sucked royally.

"Oh, give me those," Hermione said, snatching the glasses from Harry before he could protest. _"Impervious!"_ She handed them back to him.

"Thanks, Hermione." He slid them back on his nose.

Ron looked around the station, too. He had an advantage, standing head and shoulders above Harry. "We don't have to do anything until after the feast," he told Harry, "and the password's _Alchemy_."

"Firs' years!" a loud voiced boomed. "Firs' years, this way!" A large, wild-haired person towered over the students, including the tall ones like Ron, who he spotted. "All right, you three?"

They managed to give him a thumbs up, but they were swept away by the rest of the students before the conversation could progress any further. They followed and were followed by the rest of the school down a dark, muddy path. A hundred horseless stood waiting to take them to Hogwarts. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and a round face, forgetful boy named Neville Longbottom climbed into one, the door snapped shut, and they were off.

Within the carriage, though completely dry, it was uncomfortable. The silence seemed to engulf the entire space and still grew larger. The trio couldn't speak about much around Neville, as they would wind up talking about Sirius, Harry's escaped convict Godfather, and Neville himself seemed too nervous to speak. Harry inwardly sighed. Nobody except for the Weasleys and Hermione seemed to be able to speak normally around him, or at all (he wasn't sure about his godfather as he hadn't actually spoken to him). Everyone else seemed to clam up, or avoid the topic of Voldemort (or You-Know-Who, as they would say). Harry didn't want to bring up the subject either, as whenever he did, even just to himself, he would have nightmares that night.

They passed through the gates in silence and trekked up to the school in silence, though everyone around them chatted happily. They walked painfully slowly in the entrance hall as everyone pushed and shoved to get into the great hall.

"I believe you, Harry."

His whisper was barely heard, but Neville smiled nervously at Harry before joining fellow fifth years Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan at the Gryffindor table. Harry nodded once and mouthed "thanks" before sitting down, keeping the near silent conversation private.

"What did Neville say?" Hermione asked, sitting across from Harry.

"Nothing," Harry lied as Ron sat down next to Hermione.

"When's the feast going to start? I'm hungry," Ron moaned, completely changing the subject. Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes simultaneously.

"Soon, Ron, soon," Hermione said in a tone that implied that indoor voices were to be used, dear. She squinted at the head table. "Is that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" She pointed at someone up there.

Harry looked at the table. Hagrid had just taken his seat at the table (Harry waved and he waved back), so the only empty seat was Professor McGonagall's, next to Headmaster Dumbledore, who was resting his chin on long, steepled fingers. Next to McGonagall's empty seat was the hook nosed, much hated Potions Master, Professor Snape. He was glaring angrily down the table at a unfamiliar face.

That face was of a young woman, in her mid-twenties at the latest, with gray-blue eyes glaring with equal venom back. Her curling chestnut brown hair was pulled back in a loose braid, with a black ribbon wrapped around it. As far as anyone could tell, she wore a form-fitting, full-length black dress under her black lace robes with bell sleeves that swept the ground.

"I think so," Harry said, taken aback slightly. Never had they a teacher this young before, nor a defense professor that was female. However, she was already getting on Harry's good side as she glared venomously at Snape.

"I like her," Ron said brightly, wearing a look on his face similar to the one Harry wore whenever Cho Chang was around. As Hermione came close to strangling Ron, Harry looked around for Cho at the Ravenclaw table, remembering her instantly. How was she? Would she still be crying over Cedric? However, Harry could see neither hide nor hair of her. She may have been short, but not so short that she could hide easily behind someone.

Where's Cho? he thought sadly, almost desperately. He scanned the long table again, more carefully this time, but saw nothing of her. He kept searching up and down the tables, all of them, for any glimpse of the Chinese girl. Suddenly, applause broke out around the hall, along with muttering and whispers.

Harry jumped slightly in his seat, realizing that he was resting his chin on his hand. "What?" he asked. "What happened?"

"Just the strangest sorting song ever," Ron said a bit sarcastically.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped. She hit him upside the head.

"Ow!" he complained, rubbing the spot where Hermione smacked him. "What? It's true! The Sorting Hat's never done a song like that before."

"Well, yes, it certainly has branched out a bit this year," Hermione agreed, watching the first years get sorted.

Harry stared blankly at them. "How was the song so different this year?"

"Besides house descriptions, it went on for a bit how _'we must unite' _or something like that," Ron said, scratching his head. "It was weird."

"It said that all the houses must start getting along with each other, lest we fall," Hermione briefed, giving the condensed version of the song. "I wonder if it ever has given warnings before?"

"Yes, it has," Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning through a student between them (who winced when Nick passed through him; it was uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). "The hat feels honor-bound to give advice whenever it feels the school is in danger."

"That's helpful," Hermione whispered as the sorting ceremony began.

"But to get along with the Slytherins?" Harry whispered back. He glanced over at Malfoy who was watching the ceremony with narrowed eyes. "Yeah, that'll happen when the sky falls." He wanted to say "when pigs fly" but that could be done.

"You never know," Nick said airily. And he left it at that.

They decided to think about this later, stopped talking, and watched the new students be sorted. When the last student walked to their house table, Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment she carried and took her seat at the table. Dumbledore rose from his seat and smiled at the students; all conversation ceased, and they waited with bated breath.

Harry, for the first in a long time, relaxed. Everything in his life seemed so strange, even himself; he wasn't sure about much anymore. But now, despite the almost regular doubt that Hogwarts and the magical world were all just a dream,

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "I would like to make a few announcements, but not at this moment. Tuck in!"

Food appeared on the golden plates, and the goblets filled with drink. Ravenous, Harry and Ron helped themselves to everything within and out of reach.

It was a delicious feast. Though Hermione and Ron had an argument about manners (Ron had been talking with his mouth full) and spent the rest of the meal in silence, Harry was far too use to their bickering to try and reconcile them. He just worked his way through the food on his plate, though at about halfway through it he began to regret putting so much food on his plate. However, the regret quickly vanished, as did the bloated feeling he had, when the plates cleared and dessert appeared. He spooned many spoonfuls of ice cream and a large serving of treacle tart onto his plate. There was always room for dessert.

I really shouldn't have eaten as much, Harry ruefully thought after the last of the dessert had been cleared away. If he had felt bloated after dinner, he was quite sure he had gained a few pounds by now. His pants felt uncomfortably tight, even though they were Dudley's previously. However, Dumbledore was due to make his customary start-of-term speech, so he forgot about the imaginary tightness of his trousers and paid attention.

"So!" he began. "Now that you've been watered and fed I would like to make a few start-of-term notices.

"First, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, would like me to point out the number of objects banned from Hogwarts. However, we don't have the time for that now so the full list can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anyone would like to check."

His mouth twitched and then he continued. "I would also like to point out to the first years that the Forbidden Forest is not a misnomer and is forbidden, and would like a few of the older students to make note of that too." His gaze fell upon a few students at the Gryffindor table that shall go unnamed but smirked at each other at this. "Hogsmeade is also forbidden to students under third year.

"I would like to note that Quidditch will resume this year." He paused as people cheered. "And tryouts will take place the second week of the term and anyone who would like to play for their house team should contact Madame Hooch.

"Also, joining our staff this year is Professor Merle, who has kindly taken up the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

There was a polite applause, though some clapped more loudly than others, for during the entire feast and Dumbledore's speech she hadn't stopped glaring at Snape. She really seemed to hate Snape. And the proverb about one being the enemy of their enemy was their friend certainly fit at that moment.

"Due to events recent and past," Dumbledore continued when the applause quieted, "relationships with the magical communities outside of Europe have been strained. So, it an attempt to remedy this, the International Confederation of Wizards is reinstating a centuries-old exchange program that was discontinued during the times of Grindelwald and never continued. Till now, that is.

"One student from each school is sent to learn magic under a new environment and culture. Our own Cho Chang of Ravenclaw will be representing us and has begun attending Ru Heng in China. The student who will be attending Hogwarts has a few details to sort out and will be arriving shortly.

"Now, since that is everything of importance, and it is getting late, bedtime! Chop chop!" Dumbledore sat back down again and started speaking with McGonagall.

Scraping and banging was heard around the great hall as everyone made for the entrance hall. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, among other students, had worried looks on their faces, all remembering what happened the last time foreigners came to the school. Some remembered in clearer detailed than others and made them pale of face.

"What is Dumbledore thinking?" Ron whispered vehemently as he stood up. "Doesn't he remember what happened the _last_ time foreigners were here?"

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded, her voice no more than a whisper. "The International Confederation of Wizards have had this plan in motion long before they decided to bring back the triwizard tournament. The plan was too far in motion to stop after what happened during the third task."

Harry and Ron shot dumbfounded looks at Hermione. "And _how_ do you know that?" Harry whispered incredulously. He briefly wondered why they were whispering but did not think much on it. He was being increasingly distracted easily by things.

"I read it in the _Daily Prophet_. They don't print rubbish_ all_ the time," Hermione added when she saw the expressions on her friends' faces grow even more stupider looking. "Now, Ron and I have to show the new first years to the dormitories, so…"

Harry, after regaining his composure, waved a hand around impatiently. "Don't worry, I understand. I'll meet you there later."

"Okay, then," Ron said, regaining his composure as well. "Get back to the tower soon, though. You don't look well."

Harry took on the look of mock-indignity. "And you sound like a mother," he commented dryly, though Ron was probably right; he didn't feel good. However, after sticking his tongue out at him, Ron still looked a bit worried. "Alright, alright, I won't stay out long."

Ron smiled and nodded. "See you later," he said. "Oy, midgets! Over here!"

"Ron!"

At this Harry left the great hall. He had seen too many of Ron and Hermione arguments to know better than to not interfere.

* * *

Wow, that took a long time to write. Apologies and cookies for the delay, but school is evil, and I am a procrastinator with Reoccurring Writer's Block Syndrome and ADD. The next chapter will still be slow, but the new DADA teacher gets introduced more thoroughly.

disappears in puff of smoke I will return!

reappears in a puff of smoke Before I forget, I don't own Harry Potter, JKR does. Ciao! disappears again


	3. Chapter 3: Dreams and Laughter

Chapter 3: Dreams and Laughter

Harry Potter, for the tenth time that morning, considered repeatedly pounding his head against something. Or hitting something. It was actually more than ten times he had considered either option, but he had lost track. As it were, he had technically already done the latter.

Having been woken up by Peeves the Poltergeist at two o'clock in the morning, Harry had a hard time falling back asleep, mostly because of his queasily jumping stomach, partly the fault of the driving rain and thunder. In an attempt to take his thoughts away from his sore abdomen and the list named "100 Reasons Why Cho Chang Is China" that was forming in his mind. He did _not_ want to think about _that_ at two o'clock in the morning, on a gloomy night, feeling awful enough.

At some point, he had fallen asleep again, possibly around four or five in the morning. Waking up _again _in a few hours was not high on the list of things that would please him, but his stomach was no longer just jumping around but now trying to leap out his throat. He had been sent scurrying to the toilet before Ron could even ask him what was wrong, effectively tripping and ramming his knee into the porcelain bowl. But he did not care much for the throbbing pain in his knee (that by breakfast had started to bruise) for he was heaving the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

So, understandably, by his view any way (he had lied to Ron and later Hermione about his health), he did not want breakfast. He did not want to go to Care of Magical Creatures later (even though he could talk with Hagrid then). And he most _definitely_ did _not_ want to be sitting in Divination.

But there he was, sitting at a table with Ron, in the stifling hot room of incense, perfumes, and God Only Knows What Else he was forced to call the Divination classroom. Once again, he considered hitting his head on the book until he had a concussion--then he _might_ get out of class--or throwing it at someone. Professor Trelawney was high on his list of targets.

"I had a dream that I was playing Quidditch," Ron admitted sullenly, flipping through the pages of his book. "What do you think that means?"

"That you will be chased by rabid squirrels until you die from exhaustion, and then they will eat your corpse before rigor mortis sets in," Harry replied morbidly, feeling annoyed for some reason. Possibly because of his sore knee or sore throat (after puking the remains of dinner and desert, he proceeded to toss up the rest of his stomach--the bile, which had burned his throat raw). Though most likely his annoyance was caused by the assignment they were given: interpret their dreams.

Besides not being able to concentrate for long periods of time--the heavily perfumed and incense-laden air did that to him--he didn't have dreams to interpret. Or, at least, dreams he could remember. But did that exclude him from the assignment? Nope.

Ron made a face at the description of his untimely demise but was also forced to shove his fist in his mouth to deadened his sniggering. "So what's your future?" he asked in an sarcastic whisper.

Once again the urge to bang his head against the table repeated itself. "'I will die from blood loss because my nose will erupt into a nosebleed after being attacked by a thousand beautiful, scantily-clad women,'" he quoted dutifully and quietly from the (rather raunchy) voice in his head.

They had been let out of Divination early because Ron had burst out laughing at Harry's response (who had turned quite red after realizing what he had said) and wouldn't stop laughing. Not even a calming charm worked on him because he would remember and burst out laughing again. Of course, Trelawney had told them to keep 'dream journals' for homework.

"Ron, that's quite enough," said Harry, still embarrassed and still crimson, as they headed down to Transfiguration. After realizing what he had said in class (thankfully not loudly, so only Ron had heard) he had decided that it might have been better to admit to his poor memory instead. A worried Ron was easier to deal with than Ron laughing his head off.

"But--" Ron managed to choke out before bursting into peals of laughter again. Somehow, Harry grew even more red.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked when she had shown up outside the Transfiguration classroom. The bell had rung, and they had been waiting for Hermione to arrive. Really, Harry had been waiting for her to come and do something about Ron.

Ron tried to explain (much to Harry's embarrassment) but fortunately he couldn't without laughing. Hermione just stared between the chortling Ron and the very red Harry and came to the conclusion that this was one thing that she _didn't_ want to know. She did, however, help calm Ron down when she suggested that she and Harry cast a calming charm at the same time. It worked that time, though Hermione did threaten to curse him if he started laughing again when he almost started again.

"I don't know what happened, nor do want to," Hermione stated as they took their customary seats in the back of the classroom, "So don't even bother explaining."

"Wasn't planning to," Harry admitted sullenly, hoping that his face was returning to a normal shade.

Transfiguration was hard. It always was, but it was especially hard that day because they had O.W.L.s coming up and McGonagall seemed determined to not only teach them new information (transfiguring objects out of thin air and making them vanishing) but also review old information. She had given her speech, glared at Seamus when he burst out angrily, and set them to work. They were tired and their arms sore when they reached the great hall.

"I don't think McGonagall has ever worked us that hard," moaned Ron as he piled food onto his plate.

Harry nodded in agreement.

Hermione, on the other hand, said, "She just wants to make sure that we're prepared for the O.W.L.s."

Ron snorted. "If we don't die from exhaustion first." He then started shaking with laughter when he remembered Harry's first "prediction".

"_Ron_…" Hermione said, low and dangerous. Then she blinked. "Harry, you're eating."

Harry nodded but didn't speak for the food in his mouth. He swallowed. "I'm hungry."

Hermione and Ron rolled their eyes. They finished eating and headed off to Care of Magical Creatures. It was still raining, though not as hard, so the class took turns collecting dry firewood as salamanders skirted in and out of the flames. (Well, the Gryffindors took turns; the Slytherins wouldn't move away from the fire.) Hagrid showed them a Crup, a creature that looked mostly like a terrier if not for the forked tail, and would have let it loose if he hadn't been convinced that they were perfectly fine observing it on its chain.

"Are yeh feeling alright, Harry?" asked Hagrid after class and in his hut. "Yer face is a bit pink."

Harry turned magenta and hid behind his cup of tea. Ron started snickering but shut up when Hermione glared and pulled out her wand. Harry had to give her a hand; it was hard to look threatening while twirling a wand like a baton but she pulled it off.

"I'm fine, Hagrid," said Harry, wishing that he would at some time return to his normal color. Not likely, as the voice (which Harry was starting to notice more and more lately) was still laughing maniacally.

Hagrid looked at him skeptically.

"Really, I'm fine. So how was your summer?"

Something had happened alright. Hagrid was pretending deafness and changing the subject, but Harry suspected that his summer involved giants, Madame Maxime, and a promise of secrecy. He exchanged looks with Ron and Hermione, who seemed to suspect the same thing. On another occasion, they might have pushed the information out of him but right now they were glad to see him alive so they accepted his false deafness and the new subject.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione left to get the last of dinner Harry didn't feel as annoyed as he did that morning. Till he remembered the assignment that is.

* * *

Short chapter, crappy chapter, but I needed something to post to prove that I was alive and still writing this story. The next chapter _should_ be more interesting but no promises.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. JKR does.


	4. Chapter 4: Gold and Silver

Chapter 4: Gold and Silver

It was Friday afternoon, and it had not come soon enough. By then, most of the Hogwarts student populous were tired and sore (from having to hold up their wands for extended periods of time) with burnt necks (mostly due to Snape glaring at the back of their heads, occasionally due to a misplaced charm). And they still had one more day of classes.

However, the fifth year Gryffindors had waited all week for that day. Defense Against the Dark Arts was their favorite class, and they wanted to know if it would be good this year as well. They had heard promising things from the other students but they had thought that Professor Lupin and Moody had been excellent as well (though, afterwards, they would admit that both Lupin and Moody had been good teachers, they just hadn't been completely human or sane and who they said they were, respectively).

Professor Merle was a sort of mystery to them. Aside from her name and her obvious animosity with Snape, nothing else was known about her. The students who had had her class would not speak; she, they said, _instructed_ them not to talk about her until all of her class had taken place, lest she give them so much homework that it started coming out the ears, mouth, and other unnamed but implied orifices. Ron had mentioned once that he vaguely recognized her from somewhere and the entirety of the fifth Gryffindors had come down upon him to try to make him remember. Ron was eventually rescued by Harry and Hermione, the former laughing at Ron's dumbstruck expression.

Anyway, it was Friday afternoon and the Gryffindor fifth years were sitting in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The professor and the rest of the class (for it was a double class) had yet to arrive, and music played loudly from an unknown source. Much of the class were finishing other assignments in this time; Harry in particular was finishing a letter to Sirius stating that yes, he was fine, no, he would-could not try to explain what exactly happened (as according to Sirius, reading his letter was like trying to decipher alchemic texts), and as much as he didn't like the Dursley, no, Sirius, you can not kill them on the grounds that it would make you feel better.

"Oh, shite," swore Seamus. Harry looked up from his letter to see the Slytherin class arriving, late. "Don't tell me we're having it with the Slytherins."

"Love to, but can't," said Harry as Ron groaned aloud. He turned away and tried to concentrate on his letter.

"Hey, Potter--" began Malfoy, about to say something, most likely uncomplimentary, when a side door opened with a _bang!_ and the class jumped in unison. Out strode Professor Merle, in robes of startling less quality than the robes she wore at the opening feast; her robe was faded red with the sleeves ripped off, darns in several places, and huge tears up the skirt to reveal denim-covered legs.

"Welcome to Fifth year Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said, sitting on her desk. "Due to poor teaching in second year and the incorrect study of curses in fourth year, we will be covering mind-altering magiks and dangerous magical artifacts, along with reviewing for O.W.L.s, which are taking place this year for you. Throughout the year I will be reviewing for O.W.L.s, meaning that at any given moment I may decide to test you on knowledge learned prior to that moment. Yes, uh,…?"

Hermione lowered her hand, which had shot up during the middle of the speech. "Hermione Granger, professor. I have two questions, actually."

"Ask away," said Merle with a gesture of her hand. It was gloved in tight green dragon scales up to her deltoids.

"Is this Everclear?" was Hermione's first question.

Merle nodded. "Yes, this is their album 'Sparkle and Fade' playing right now. Next question?"

"The book you assigned doesn't contain information on dangerous magical objects and very little on mind-altering spells. Why did you assign this an something with information pertaining more to this year's studies?"

Merle laughed aloud. "Five points to whatever house you're in," she choked out.

"What?" blurted Malfoy. "Why does she get five points for asking a stupid question?"

Merle stopped laughing long enough to explain. "She gets five points because she was the first person to correctly guess the music, and she was the first fifth year to notice the book I chose. Or at least the first one to bring it up.

"Yes, I am aware that the book I assigned, _A Guide to Self-Defense Against the Dark_, contains little to no information on this year's subjects, but there is no book on dangerous magical objects, and the book on mind-alterers is far to expensive for normal purchase. I could only get it with the teaching grant Hogwarts gives."

"So we didn't actually have to get it?" asked Ron, feeling peeved.

"No, you did. It has some information on mind-alterers, and it's good review material. But I probably won't be using it much. Yes, Hermione?"

"Muggle technology doesn't work inside Hogwarts," said Hermione, who had raised her hand yet again. "How can you be playing Everclear?"

Merle went behind her desk and heaved a large stereo system that was held together by duct tape. "I fished this out of a rubbish bin and got my friend to try fix it. When I brought it to Hogwarts it started playing the CD that was jammed inside it, and I dropped it, so it is now held together with tape. It works fine now, though."

"But you have no clue how it works," stated Hermione, deadpanned.

Merle laughed guiltily. "Yeah," she admitted. She brandished a roll of parchment with too much show. "Anyway, I want to know about all of you, so when I call your name stand up and introduce yourself. Likes, dislikes, extracurricular activities, whatever. And what house you're in."

Much of the class time went like this: the professor would call out someone's name, that person would stand up, stutter out a few things about themselves, and sit immediately back down. It was quite informative actually; Harry had learned several things including, but not limited to, Dean liking Japanese animation and having as many sisters as Ron did siblings, Malfoy almost getting sucked in by a jet intake (to which Ron and Harry exchanged looks ultimately saying that it would have been very nice if he actually did after Hermione explained to the class what getting sucked into a jet intake would do to a person; Harry and the few who had gone to a Muggle school had already known), and Lavender claiming she was a Johnny Depp fan. Hermione introduction also included an outburst from an unnamed part of the room of her being a 'know-it-all', to which Merle said that Hermione was allowed to explain things whenever she wanted as long as Merle was not talking.

"I like Quidditch, and my favorite classes are Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms," said Harry when it was his turn. "I also like Terry Pratchett novels but I've been having trouble finding his books so I've only read up to _Moving Pictures_ in the Discworld series." He sat down abruptly and let Hermione explain what exactly a 'Terry Pratchett' and a 'Discworld' were. He began to get nervous when Merle said nothing and stared at him; not at his scar, but into his eyes with gray-blue eyes of her own that reminded him of stormy oceans and clear winter skies…

"I'd thought you'd have been taller," she muttered eventually before calling on Parvati, who snickered along with the rest of the class as Harry sulked; he had grown increasingly touchy about his (lack of) height.

She finished going through roll call, and Harry finished sulking. "Now, how many of you play Quidditch or are planning on trying out for your house teams?" she asked, tossing the roll of parchment aside. She seemed to have mastered a Clean Floor policy but had yet to grasp a Clean Desk one; how exactly she would be able to work at her desk was a mystery as every square inch was buried under parchment, quills, CD cases, and other miscellany.

Hands went up, Ron among them. Merle nodded. "OK, those of you not on the team yet, tell me when you are so I can note it. Yes, Hermione?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Merle smiled happily. "Do you know how much I would have given if just one of my professors would have let me hand in homework late during weeks of hard practice before a Quidditch match? I intend to be that professor."

Eyes widened in shock, then smiles spread over Harry and Malfoy's faces. "Are you serious?" blurted Harry, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, I am. You're a seeker, right? You have the wrong build for anything else."

Harry nodded, and Merle giggled and clapped her hands like a pleased teenaged girl. "I was a seeker for my house team too! We won the house cup twice because of me."

"Who won the other times?"

"The only person who was good enough to get the snitch before me. Yes, Draco?"

"What house were you in?" he asked, somehow smug.

Merle giggled evilly. "Each house gets one guess and two questions each," she told the class. "But you can't ask any questions that are house-related because that's cheating. The house who guesses correctly gets ten points but if no one gets it then you both lose five points."

"What are you?" asked Parkinson.

"Homo Sapien, female, British, twenty-three, she who was voted 'most likely to have been dragged to the stake by a screaming mob if born three centuries before'--"

"I mean, are you a Pureblood, halfblood, or a Mudbl--Muggleborn," interrupted Parkinson, correcting herself before she said 'Mudblood'. It would not do to be on the teacher's bad side so early in the year.

Whether or not Merle caught her almost-slip-up she didn't say but replied, "Muggleborn. I was also seeker for my house team, if you weren't listening."

The class whispered amongst themselves, the Gryffindors and Slytherins who were separated from their housemates quickly joining the rest of their house.

"No way she's a Slytherin. She said she was a Mudblood."

"Perhaps she's a Hufflepuff. After all, she is still pretty proud of her house."

"Pride and loyalty aren't the same, dimwit. Though that's probably the best guess."

"Ron, Ron," said Harry, waving a hand in front of his best friend's face. "Hello? Earth to Ron."

Ron, however, continued to stare as he had for much of the class at Merle with glassy eyes, as though his mind was trying to piece something together. "I know that name," he muttered, running his hand through his hair. "Where have I heard it before?" He continued to stare at the new professor until he stopped slouching in his seat, sat up, and looked at Merle with the expression of a archeologist who had just discovered the lost city of El Dorado. Then he pointed a finger at Merle and began saying, "You… you… you're…"

"Yes, Ron?" said Merle pleasantly. Her tone would have been more believable if not for the wide smile.

"You'rethatcrazySlytheringirlCharliewroteabout," exclaimed Ron in one breath. The class, Harry and Hermione included, stared at him in shock. Merle, on the other hand, laughed loud and hard.

"Ron, that had better not--" reprimanded Parvati but was interrupted by a loud whoop from Merle and _bang!_ from the end of the woman's wand. Gold and silver stars shot out of the tip; one landed on Harry's cheek and prickled slightly.

"Ten points for Gryffindor," cheered Merle waving her wand about haphazardly, showering the class in tingling stars.

The class was silent before, in one voice, said, "What?"

"A Slytherin, I am," said Merle, still waving her wand about; the stars were now red and green but still prickling on contact. "Mostly by process of elimination, though."

They blinked and asked her, in strained voices, to elaborate.

"The hat said I wasn't Ravenclaw or Gryffindor material," explained Merle, stopping the stars, "and if I had gone with the Hufflepuffs, I would have killed them in a fortnight."

"So you were sorted into Slytherin because you didn't have qualities of the other houses?" said Harry, unsure what to make of the new professor now. A Muggleborn Slytherin just seemed impossible, but there was the living proof. Maybe the Sorting hat wasn't aware of the almost-prerequisite hatred of Muggleborns of the Slytherin house. What was it doing putting a Muggleborn in Slytherin? That was like placing a lamb among wolves.

"Sort of. I can be manipulative when I want something. But really," she said, sitting on her desk again, "everyone has qualities of every house, I've learned. And when you leave Hogwarts for a few years you tend to forget house rivalries."

"How did Weasley know who you were?" asked Malfoy, looking unsure how to treat the new professor, as an ally, a traitor, or a lesser form of life.

"I was best friend's with his brother Charlie," she said simply, sending the class into another state of shock. However, the bell brought them back to reality. "Now get out of here, and read Chapter 6. Harry and Ron, stay."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stopped, turned around, and waited by her desk. She had disappeared back into her office. A few minutes later she appeared again, with several books.

"You said you like Terry Pratchett, didn't you, Harry?" she said, handing him the stack. On the top of the stack was _Reaper Man_. "That's some of Discworld that you've missed and _Good Omens_, which he wrote alongside Neil Gaiman.

"Ron, Charlie says 'hi' and not to get in trouble, and also not to send requests to pick up illegal dragons anymore, whatever that means," she said to Ron, whose ears flushed red.

"How exactly do you know Charlie?" asked Ron, skeptical.

"Like I said," said Merle, "I was best friends with him at Hogwarts and still am. I worked with him in Romania for the last three years, till I took this job."

"Oh," was all Ron could say. "Uh--"

"Now you may leave." Merle gestured to the door. "I expect you want dinner."

They nodded, and turned to leave.

"Harry."

Harry, who had not quite left yet, paused. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

_Eh?_ An indecipherable expression crossed Harry's face, before vanishing as it had never been. Bright green eyes met gray-blue. "Yes, Professor, I am."

The professor stared at him until he closed the door. "If you say so, Harry," she muttered, before going back into her office. She had a few people to write to, including a worried werewolf.

------

Yes, I am still alive.

Yes, I am still writing. I _will_ keep the plot bunnies from eating _all_ of my brain.

Yes, Professor Merle knows more than she lets on. I might let you know how much later on.


	5. Chapter 5: King

Chapter 5: King

The unspoken promise between teacher and student was being fulfilled, for the fifth years at least. It was the most challenging year yet; although, they would admit, every year was more challenging than its predecessor. It just seemed that this year was especially hard, and the upcoming O.W.L.s did not help. It only made things more difficult.

And true to her word, Professor Merle had one day sent all the fifth years a roll of parchment with questions about subjects taught previous, with instructions to complete it without the aide of notes or text. After a few test tries, they all learned that she had put a special charm on the paper that refused ink or graphite or whatever the student may attempt to write with if a textbook or some notes with the answers were nearby, or cheating off another student's answers. It squawked loudly, too. Throughout the school squawking parchment could be heard.

"Squawking parchment sounds like something Fred or George would come up with," Ron complained afterwards, having had his parchment squawk several times.

To the trio's amusement and horror, they had discovered that the Weasley twins had come up with it, in partnership with Professor Merle. In a secret deal (known only to those involved and Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who wisely decided to keep their mouths shut on this, despite Hermione's initial protests), Professor Merle had agreed to "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" if they did not pull pranks in her class or on her and she got free samples of their products.

It was not to be said that, despite her playful nature (for one day at breakfast, the first day she had shown up to one, she received a howler from a very irate and old Auror with a false eye about a gift of eye cleaner. She had also sent a gift to Lupin containing dog treats and a collar; he had not been amused, and sent several howlers and a biting letter to show), Defense Against the Dark Arts was not difficult. If anything, it was more difficult than ever, but that's what they said every year. Just this year they didn't have texts. Or, at least, not very informative texts.

Professor Merle anticipated this. She used a lot of visual aids, pictures, and reenactments, and was very good at descriptions. The piece of chalk moved across the board, highlighting the important points, as she lectured about various things. The one class she had talked about Eve, a new-age, magically enhanced hallucinogenic drug that was very potent and undetectable by Muggle means, and had caused a great deal of trouble. Another class had been about Dementors. Mercifully, she hadn't described them, and just shown them pictures; her descriptions bordered on "graphic" and "horrifying," depending on the subject.

"Dementors, as you know," she lectured, walking between the desks, "are being that feast on the positive feeling of humans. They eat all happy feelings, leaving the victim with a feeling of despair and severe depression. If left too long in the company of a Dementor, the victim will have very little chance of recovery, and more often than a place in the psyche ward at St. Mungo's. If the victim happens to be magical, their magic will eventually be gone as well, as Dementors drain a witch or wizard of his or her magic also.

"Another case, consider to be the most horrible, would involve the Dementor's Kiss, when the Dementor sucks out the soul of its victim through the mouth, hence the name. Whether the Dementor actually locks lips -" there was a great deal of shuddering at this moment – "or not, is undetermined, as those who would know kind of don't because they no longer have a soul and aren't aware of anything anymore." (Harry shuddered alone this time, as he knew that the Dementor at least came _very_ close when performing the Dementor's Kiss, and he had seen a person with no soul.)

"Dementors invest dark, filthy places, a lot of the time decaying. They are also stationed at Azkaban Prison, where most, if not all of the inmates go crazy. It's very easy to identify if a Dementor is near; even Muggles can tell, though they can't see them. Squibs can't see Dementors either, but most Squibs are able to identify the signs correctly.

"There are a few defenses against Dementors, though not all of them are practical and most are unfound. _My_ advice for Dementors is that if you feel one coming, characterized by a cold, freezing-of-the-insides feeling, run for it. There is a spell that can dispel Dementors called the Patronus, and although it's difficult, and most witches and wizards can't perform it, I'm going to teach it anyway. Now get out your wands."

There was a brief shuffling as the class pulled out their wands and tucked their notes away for safe keeping (as the last time they had had been taught a spell in her class several pages of parchment caught on fire and notes had suddenly vanished).

"Think of a good memory," said Professor Merle, her own wand out, "A happy feeling, to be exact. Then, when you're high on endorphins, say _Expecto Patronum_, still concentrating on the memory. A corporeal Patronus will be solid and silvery-white, and an incomplete Patronus will be a silvery mist. Everyone has a different Patronus, so don't be surprised that if you can it looks different from someone else's. And you have to concentrate very hard, and it has to be a happy memory, as it gets more difficult when being hunted by Dementors. Yes, Seamus?"

"What are endorphins?"

"Endorphins are chemicals released by the body as a sense of well-being. Certain foods release endorphins, like chocolate, which is a good thing to have after dealing with Dementors so remember that. Chili peppers work too, but more people like chocolate and it's easier to eat. Now, try the Patronus. Go on."

There were cries of "_Expecto Patronum_" all over the room but none produced an actual Patronus. Once or twice Harry thought he saw the silvery cloud of a incomplete Patronus, but it vanished before he could get a good look at it.

"Harry, why didn't you try?" asked Professor Merle after the sixth or seventh round. People were looking rather drained, and only a few attempted now. The rest ate the chunk of chocolate they had received.

"Er, I already can," he admitted, accepting the chuck of chocolate.

"What was that?" she asked, her eyes just slightly wide. "You can cast a corporeal Patronus?"

Harry nodded.

Professor Merle stared at him intently. "Show me."

Harry looked at her, and she looked back expectantly. He sighed and, aware of everyone's stares, raised his wand and said, "_Expecto Patronum_," concentrating on the memory of winning the Quidditch House Cup in third year. White and shining, a stag shot out of his wand.

And Professor Merle's mouth fell open. As did everyone else's, except for Ron and Hermione, who already knew Harry could perform the Patronus, and Harry, who felt color rising up his neck.

Professor Merle, with an amazing amount of effort, pulled herself back to reAlicety. "Harry, see me after class," she said distantly. "The rest of you, read the entry on Dementors in _Fantastic Beasts_ and write a detailed summary on Dementors and the Patronus using today's notes and other sources. That's all." And she disappeared into her office.

"That was odd," said Harry eventually. Then, "Does that mean I don't have to write the summary?"

"_Harry._"

* * *

"Remus Lupin," yelled the witch at the mirror. It was small and in a golden frame with "RJL" inscribed on top and cost her several months of saved money and a loan that had been paid, thank you. A few minutes later her reflection swirled and changed into that of a young, graying man.

"Yes, Alice, what is it?" said Remus Lupin. "It has to be quick, though. I need to get back."

"You didn't tell me that Harry could already create a Patronus," she hissed at him. "Why on earth would he already know that?"

"He has problems with Dementors," said Remus, choosing his words carefully. "The Dementors are drawn to Harry, so it was necessary to teach him."

Alice growled. "A trouble magnet. I'm teaching a f---ing trouble magnet. I've looked over his school records already and he's gotten into more trouble in four years than most people in their entire life. _At school!_ Do you know how _difficult_ it's going to be to make sure nothing happens to him!"

"Which is why I asked you to look over him," said Remus. "Hogwarts needed a Defense teacher, and the minister was planning on sending in one of their representatives to fill the position. No ministry member specifically chosen by Fudge would watch Harry. If anything, they would antagonize him. I would have done it myself but if I signed on again there would be complaints, and more complaints are the last thing we need."

Alice growled angrily but her shoulders sagged in defeat. "I know. I heard that, too, about the ministry. Mr. Weasley isn't in their good books, nor Mr. Diggory. Supporting the notion of Voldemort's return isn't very popular there."

Remus nodded. "Yes, but a surprising number of people are at least willing to consider the notion. Mostly pessimists, though. You can come up with something for Harry. I know you can. But I have to go now. Goodbye." And his face swirled out of focus and the face became that of a gray-blue eyed witch again.

Alice sighed, stood, and readjusted her robes. Remus was right. She _could_ come up with something for Harry. Already a plan was formulating in her mind.

If this goes _here_, and that goes _there_ a bit, and then one small move and Harry would fall right into place, somewhere that even if she could not watch over him, someone else would.

Life is like a game of chess, she had said once. Sometimes you're the king, sometimes you're the pawn.

She knew who the king was in this game of chess. And she knew who the pawns were.

* * *

Harry was standing by her desk when she returned. With him were Ron and Hermione, with worried expressions. Harry was looking more confused than worried, wondering more about what he did wrong more than what will happen.

"Stop looking like that," she told them, noticing the looks on their faces. "Harry's not in trouble. I just wanted to have a word with him."

She took a moment to sit at her desk and shuffle things around a bit, staring pointedly at Ron and Hermione to leave all the while. They understood, and while reluctant, they did leave, though not before telling Harry that they would wait.

"I _told_ you to stop looking like that," she repeated, seeing how worry and confusion became equal on his face. "I just wanted to ask if you would be willing to help in a… _student-assistance program_."

Wondering why 'student-assistance program' needed a significant pause, Harry said, "Sure?"

"Good," said Alice, ignoring the questioning tone of his voice. "I'll send you a timetable when it's complete and some more details."

"What?"

"The exchange student. I want you to help them when they gets here. I don't know how much or what them has been taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I just want you to help them get on track and help them out whenever needed. You're a good student, if that Patronus means anything."

"'Them'?" said Harry, a tad worried. "I thought Hogwarts was just hosting one student."

Alice coughed once. "We are. I just don't know the gender of the student, and I felt bad when I referred to them as 'it'. Still up to it?"

"Yes," said Harry. Then, as an afterthought, he asked, "They speak English, right?"

"Yes. Now get out of here, I've kept you long enough. And yes, you do have to do the essay."

Harry left, and Alice retreated back into her office.

And in Alice's mind, pieces moved on an imaginary chess board.

* * *

End of Chapter Five. Apologies for it taking so long and the awfulness. I really hated this chapter. The next chapter has already been started on. I don't own Harry Potter, but plot bunnies are eating my brain. I might update with an interlude first though. I don't know. Depends on which breeds first.

**NOTE: I will be rewriting the first four chapters of _When Spring Comes_. This means that when I am finished revising I will be replacing earlier chapters. If you still want the chapters I will be replacing save them to your computer now as I will not be giving warnings as to when I will be replacing chapters.**


	6. Interlude: Snapshots

Interlude: Snapshots of a Noble Type of Blackbird

* * *

Alice Merle had been born at home. 

She had been born on the bathroom floor, at two o'clock in the morning. Her mother's water broke when she was going to the loo and proceeded to birth her second daughter from her spot on the floor an hour later. It wasn't a hard delivery, unlike her older sister Lorina who wanted to come out buttocks first, just fast.

* * *

Lorina and Alice showed signs of magic in the same moment. 

A four-year-old Lorina accidentally magicked open the wine cabinet and gave her two-year-old sister a bottle of wine. Carol Merle had caught the pair before Alice could have a lot, but Alice proceeded to burp pink bubbles in odd shapes like stars and diamonds, which burst in a cloud of color and smelled faintly of Merlot.

Carol had not been bothered by this, beyond the fact that her eldest daughter had opened the wine cabinet and her youngest had a sip of wine. When she told her sister-in-law, Charlotte, about this, her sister-in-law began to point and stammer until Lorina told her that Carol had told her that it was rude to point.

* * *

Alice wears her hair long for a reason. Not because she likes long hair but because if she didn't then it would be a mass of fluffy hair. So she wears it long and treats it once a week with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion for Curls. 

She does this because when she was five a boy made fun of her because of her hair. It was brown and still puffy and resembled a dandelion clock. He called her Dandelion Head and kept asking her what the time was.

She snapped one day, and afterwards the boy needed several stitches and was kept at the hospital overnight, just to make sure that the numerous bites he received didn't cause an infection. It had taken a bucket of water to get Alice to stop biting his leg, and a skipping rope and a chair to keep her from going after him again.

He never made fun of her after that. He still flinches when she passes him on the street.

* * *

Alice was six, in Year 1 Grammar, when she was called out of class to be told her father died. A teacher had come in, sad and pale, saying that she was to report to the headmaster's office immediately. A few children went "ooh" and "what did you do?" and promptly shut up when Alice glared at them, her long gray-blue eyes fierce and stormy. 

When the headmaster told her and her sister, with sad, pitying eyes, that their father had died in a car accident, Alice just sat there. Her face did not change, impassive and wooden, and the only sign that she had even heard what he had said was the slight inclination of her head. She had nothing to say.

Lorina screamed. She screamed at the headmaster, told him that he was lying, that Daddy wasn't dead, that he couldn't be dead, that Daddy had promised to take her and Alice and Mum down to Paris that weekend, that he promised and Daddy would never break a promise, a promise, a promise, and she collapsed to the floor in a sobbing heap.

It was the first sign that Alice was stronger than her older sister, when she carried her sister home from school. Because she could carry her sister home from school, because she had not fallen to pieces.

* * *

The day her father died was the day Alice knew that she would always have to be strong. After she put her sister to bed she went to find her mother. Alice found her sitting in the attic, which had been converted several years before into a private parlor for Mr. and Mrs. Merle only. Her mother's eyes, just like her own, here dull and glassy, her mind having retreated to a safe haven, far from the news of her beloved's death. 

Alice, with the help of Aunt Charlotte, eventually was the one who was in charge of the funeral arrangements for her father, because her mother was too far lost and her sister too far gone to help.

Alice didn't know then if she was strong, if she wanted to be strong. But she knew she couldn't be weak, because someone had to lay Lewis Merle to rest, because someone had to make sure that Daddy could pass one peacefully.

Because someone had to be strong enough to carry on and everyone else, too.

* * *

Six months after her father died, Alice broke. She woke up late at night because something felt wrong. Like she had pieces of herself missing, like she was broken into thousands of pieces and not all were there. 

When she unbuttoned her nightshirt and looked down, she was all there. She turned on a light and saw only smooth, unmarked skin.

But she could _feel_ it. The pieces missing—lost—and it was getting harder to breathe because of the missing pieces.

Then she screamed, horrifying and furious and agonizing. She screamed for everything that was gone, lost, and would never be found again. She screamed for her mother, who lived and breathed only for the memories of her lover and the present her mind created, a world safe from the harsh reality. She screamed for her sister, the sister she had loved and admired and was lost inside the emotionless shell that she was forced to call her sister. She screamed for her father, dead and buried, killed by a patch of summer ice. She screamed for herself, for the life she had had, the future that she should have had, that had been stolen from her. She screamed until lights flashed about her eyes and her head pounded.

And when she couldn't scream anymore, she punched every hard surface she could find, until her hands were raw and bleeding. She destroyed everything in her room that reminded her of her father, who broke his promise and broke her and didn't leave a mark to show. She ripped and tore and destroyed until she was too exhausted to do anything else.

The morning after she called her aunt, Aunt Charlotte, who had just recently got a divorce, and asked if she would come and stay with them, until things were better, indefinitely. She spent the rest of the day waiting for her aunt to arrive, sewing together the parts of her life she had destroyed, imperfectly but together.

She broke and spent several months gluing herself back together, imperfectly but together.

She still isn't sure if she has all the pieces of herself, together, imperfectly, but all there.

* * *

When Alice was eight, people often remarked on how well she handled her father's death and her mother's insanity. 

So much better than her sister, who would go for months as impassive as a statue, but as soon as she saw something that reminded her of her father or mother, a certain tie or perfume, she would break down, crying every tear she had bottled up. The genius girl who knew everything except how to cope.

Alice doesn't consider herself better at handling death and insanity than her sister. She does consider herself better at learning from mistakes.

She made the mistake of suppressing her emotions, and each time she snapped and came down up the unfortunate souls who brought her there, either physically or spiritually. She beat up the boy who called her Dandelion Head and destroyed her father's ghost.

She has learned from her mistakes. She lets out her emotions, but on a leash.

When she's angry her eyes grow dark and wild and she's a walking storm, and she's at its eye. When she's upset she's in the storm, feeling the wind and hail and rain that no one else knows but can see because the storm is inside her, tearing at her insides. When she's sad she swallows the rain of tears and doesn't let the storm out but knows that it's there, admits it exists. She holds onto her feelings and never lets go; she'll never let anyone take her anger, hate, or tears from her.

She's a selfish bitch and knows it and doesn't care because she'll always have that part of her.

* * *

When the Ministry wizard showed up on their doorstep to tell Lorina and Alice that they were witches and that Lorina could go to a school of magic if she wanted to, Alice wanted to laugh. Not because the idea was ridiculous to what they were told, but because of what the wizard was wearing. He wore a doublet, fluorescent pink legwarmers, sandals, and a miniskirt. 

That night Lorina and Alice wondered if Lorina should accept the invitation. It sounded wonderful, but what if she had a breakdown? What if people learned about Mum or Daddy and made fun of her for it? What if she either happened and she retreated into herself like Mum? She would stay there forever because Alice wouldn't be there to draw her out.

"I don't know if I should go," said Lorina, that night. She had crawled into Alice's bed, like she was the little sister who needed her big sister to comfort her to sleep; it had been this way for years. "If people make fun of me I won't be able to stand up for myself. I'm not as brave as you, Alice."

Alice sat up immediately then and told Lorina that she _must_ go to Hogwarts. She never did explain why, but when the wizard had shown up again, better dressed this time, Alice informed the wizard that Lorina would be attending Hogwarts in September and where was she to get supplies?

Alice never explained to her sister that she wasn't brave. Bravery, in her mind, means being about to accept fear and overcome it. Alice's pride never lets her do that; it takes fear and turns it into a tool, something she could use. Fear is the one emotion she will never admit to herself or anyone else that she has ever felt.

She never accepts fear, and is never brave. Because pride is her greatest sin.

* * *

For a month Alice fretted over her sister when she was at Hogwarts, though to the unobserving eye, she was just grouchy and surly over her sister getting to go away on an adventure while she was stuck at home. When an Hogwarts post owl arrived with a letter Alice almost strangled the poor thing while trying to get the letter. 

Alice read the letter, reread it, and read it thrice before bursting out laughing, startling Aunt Charlotte and the owl. While her aunt read the letter Alice wrote two letters: one to her sister, telling her not to let it get to her too much, and one to a William Weasley, thanking him for getting her sister out of her shell in ways she could not, by proving himself a challenge to Lorina's genius.

Of course, Alice never told Lorina about her second letter, nor did she explained to Bill _why_ she was thanking him. She just wrote in big, bold letters _THANK YOU_.

To this day, Lorina doesn't know, and Bill still can't figure out what she meant.

* * *

On her tenth Christmas Aunt Charlotte gave Alice _The Colour of Magic_ by Terry Pratchett. She had figured that at least Alice could get an idea of magic, even if it wasn't real. 

Alice hadn't liked it much at first, thinking it wrong on some level to be given a fictional tale of magic when she knew it was real, and only began reading it out of politeness. By the end of the holidays Alice had read it five times and was severely disappointed when she found out that there was only one book about Discworld.

Since then Alice has worked on amassing the entire series, mostly through gifts. So far she has every novel released, the art books, and the BBC adaptations on tape.

* * *

When Alice received her letter to Hogwarts she was ecstatic. It had taken a threat of the temporary removal of the Disc to get Alice to stop bouncing on the furniture. 

So for the first time in years Alice went to her mother's room and did not lie to her about the life she was leading. She told in detail everything that had happened since Lewis Merle's death. That she was a witch, that Lorina was a witch, that they were to be studying magic together at a school far away and would be home at Christmas and Easter, and Mum, please be OK and know that I love you.

And Carol smiled at her youngest daughter with blank eyes, patted her on the head, and asked why she wasn't wearing that nice blue dress that she had bought her the other day.

It was then that Alice knew that Carol would never recover, would never realize reality again. It was then that Alice never told her mother the truth again.

Alice never wears blue, and avoids blue dresses like the plague.

* * *

On the train to Hogwarts, Alice met Chiaki Ishii. He was a quiet Japanese boy who spoke with the strangest accent Alice had ever heard, a mix between a southern England accent and a Japanese one. But that has nothing to do with how they met. Alice met Chiaki when she was sitting in a compartment on the train with her sister and he needed a place to sit. 

Alice wasn't sure what to think of him until halfway through the ride he asked if Lorina was her sister. Alice said yes and asked if he had any siblings.

"I should have had a little sister," said Chiaki, with a weird smile on his face. It reminded Alice of a broken mirror, beautiful, reflecting the prisms of light, but ultimately still broken.

"So how old are you turning this year?" asked Alice.

Chiaki blinked at the rapid change in subject and said, "I'll be turning twelve November third."

"Well, I just turned eleven two days ago, so you're older than me." Then, with the innocence that can only be attributed to children. "And since you were supposed to be a big brother, I'll be your little sister, too. I always wanted a big brother."

Chiaki and Alice were inseparable until the Feast, and afterwards, too.

* * *

Alice had wanted to be a Ravenclaw. She argued with the Hat for fifteen minutes, until the Hat explained to her why she couldn't possibly be a Ravenclaw in terms she could understand. It wasn't that she's stupid, it's that she too sensible to be a Ravenclaw. If there's a giant monster with tentacles sitting on the roof, most people would wonder if it's real. A Ravenclaw would want to study and do research on it. Sensible people, like Alice, would start wondering how to get rid of it. 

That convinced Alice that she wasn't meant for Ravenclaw, and for another ten minutes she argued with the Hat about the other houses. She had too much pride to be a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, the houses that would admit to fear and the leftover house, respectively.

Twenty-five minutes later the Hat screams out "SLYTHERIN!", commending Alice for her stubbornness and telling her that the pen-knife hidden on her person wouldn't work against the Hat.

* * *

Alice first met Bill and Charlie Weasley when the first grades of the year were being returned. Met, however, is the wrong term. She first_ saw_ Bill Weasley in the entrance hall, where her sister was yelling something at him. He, in turn, yelled back. Students groaned and tittered at them, their fights being so commonplace they were overlooked by teachers. 

This fight didn't go any farther, though, since Alice and Charlie bodily dragged their respective older sibling away. They shot each other sympathetic glances that said, "Sorry about this idiot."

Alice formally met Charlie Weasley a week later. She was sitting by the lake when he walked up to her and told her his name and asked what her name was. He apologized to her for his brother's actions toward her sister, and Alice likewise apologized for her sister. After that, they just sat there and talked, about nothing and everything, like they had been friends all their life.

About halfway through Alice realized that Charlie thought she was a Ravenclaw like her sister. The robes bore no insignia to their house. There was no way to tell a Ravenclaw from a Slytherin if you didn't know.

Alice didn't correct him, though. She wanted to see how long it would be until he noticed.

* * *

To her utter amazement Charlie never did. Several other people noticed, however, to the strange friendship between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Everyone had tried to be oblique about it, though. 

Of course, by being oblique Charlie never picked up on it. He wasn't dumb, but he was very simple. He couldn't think of Alice being a Slytherin, especially since she was a Muggleborn, and wouldn't until someone pointed it out to him. And no one could come out and tell him and possibly ruin a good friendship, especially after the last several Sorting songs that spoke of unity of the houses.

A group of Pureblood Slytherins boys was tell him, though, because he was a Gryffindor and Alice was a Slytherin, and they weren't supposed to like each other. But they made a mistake: they tried to blackmail Alice first.

It would be wrong to say that they didn't know what hit them; they knew perfectly well what hit them. They just hadn't been expecting it. By the time the prefects could restrain Alice several teeth had been chipped, robes torn, and one boy was curled on the ground, clutching a certain male part that hurt a lot when kicked, and another boy had a hairline fracture on his arm.

To avoid getting the house in trouble the older students fixed everyone up and the prefects made everyone swear not to mention this and what caused it to anyone.

So it wasn't mentioned, and Alice came and went and made friends as she pleased.

* * *

One of the few people who spoke directly about their friendship was a Ravenclaw first year that was rarely heard at all named Peony Parkinson (the only others had been Lorina, who had never mentioned it again after being stared down by Alice, and Bill, who accepted her answer though stared suspiciously at her until he was certain that she was not using his brother in some inane scheme). She came from an old Pureblood family and was reputably the "failure of the family" because she wasn't a Slytherin. 

"W-why are you friends with a Gryffindor?" asked Peony one day in the library, privately. She spoke with the stammer of someone who never expected to speak or be spoken to. It confused Alice, who had never heard it before.

"Because house doesn't matter," came Alice's curt reply. "We're friends, and that's that."

And Peony began to cry. Alice, who had dealt with sobbing females before, hugged Peony and let her cry on her shoulder about how house shouldn't matter when it came to family either.

Peony and Alice were friends after that. It was hard to be friends with someone when you've just let them sob on your shoulder like that.

* * *

Charlie did eventually realize that Alice was a Slytherin. At the Leaving Feast he saw the bushy hair that belonged to only Alice at the Slytherin table. Alice never eats meals with the rest of the school, preferring to eat later or earlier when she could sit at whatever table she wanted and no one would raise as much as an eyebrow; it's a habit she has kept even now. 

Charlie spent the rest of the Feast in shock afterwards. When everyone had left the Great Hall later, Alice marched over to the flabbergasted boy and told him that yes, she was a Slytherin, and if that mattered then he wasn't as good a friend as she thought.

And Charlie looked at her, with wide eyes, like he was seeing her truly for the first time; he was, in a way. It was several moments before he could get his thoughts straight, and several more before his mouth began to work again.

"So what you're a Slytherin," he said, his voice shaking slightly from uncertainty of his words. "We're still friends, and that's what matters." This time, his voice did not shake.

Alice knew that he wasn't sure on what he said about Slytherin. But she also knew that he was certain about their friendship.

"Right."

* * *

Alice has only a few people she fully trusts, and three of them were the only friends she had at Hogwarts: Charlie Weasley, Peony Parkinson, and Chiaki Ishii. Her only other confidant she met after she left Hogwarts. 

She doesn't ever worry about someone offering her the world in exchange for her friends because they are her world.

Her friends don't ever worry about someone offering them the world in exchange for Alice because without Alice, the world wouldn't be complete.

* * *

Despite Alice's best efforts, Charlie and Peony do not get along. Their hate for each other is barely hidden behind frosty exteriors and behind-the-back silent raspberries. Blood is thicker than water, and prejudice is an STD. That is, at least, the general explanation why Charlie and Peony can't stand to be in each other's company, though not that wording. 

Alice knows that this is not the true reason. However, she can't figure out what it is, so she lets it lie and makes sure that she is between them whenever they are forced to be around one another.

Chiaki knows that this is not the true reason. However, Charlie and Peony swore him to secrecy when he found out, so it still lies. He does, though, use it sometimes to his advantage.

* * *

In their second year, Charlie and Alice were made seeker of their respective houses. It is one of their favorite memories, when they ran up to the other screaming the exact same thing, about how they were seeker and beat out the older students, realized what they were doing, and collapsed to the ground, laughing their heads off. 

When Gryffindor won the in the Gryffindor-Slytherin match that year, Alice was not a sore loser but instead showed Charlie her newest discovery, the school kitchens.

Since then, after every Slytherin or Gryffindor victory, after finishing celebrating with teammates and housemates, Alice and Charlie would sneak down (or up, in Alice's case) to the kitchens for Victory Chips, normal chips dipped in partially melted chocolate ice cream.

They still continue this when they hear, usually several months later, of a Slytherin or Gryffindor Quidditch victory.

* * *

Summer before third year, Alice bloomed, as Peony put it. Alice, grumbling about shirts being too tight, left an IOU for her aunt and dragged the flower-named girl into Muggle London lingerie shops because the only decent lingerie in the wizarding world was either custom-ordered or sparkled. Or flashed in embarrassing places. 

"If I have to wear the blasted things I'm getting one worth wearing," reasoned Alice later to her aunt. This practicality led to the purchasing of a wide assortment of undergarments.

Third year, or, to be specific, the train ride, Charlie and Chiaki noticed that yes, Alice is actually a human of the female persuasion.

It was that moment that Chiaki could no longer think of Alice as he had before.

It was a few moments later that Alice hit them both upside the head for staring.

* * *

When Alice was fourteen she received her first kiss. It wasn't from Charlie or Chiaki, like the various betting pools suggested. Or even Bill, which another pool was suggesting, mostly to get a rise out of Lorina (IT'LL BE OVER MY DEAD BODY BEFORE ALICE EVER KISSES _HIM_!"). It was from Peony. 

It was Christmas Eve and Peony had invited Alice to the Christmas Eve party her parents threw every year. They were contradicted over Alice; she was a Mudblood and a Slytherin; they didn't know what to think of her, or their daughter's friendship. So they had let her come, but spoke nothing except the customary pleasantries to her and shuddering afterwards.

"Shee tha' boy there," slurred Peony, pointing an unsteady finger at a blonde boy of seven or eight years. "I ushe' to be en-en-en—suppos'd teh marry 'im. Then Pansy came 'long, sho now she's the fi-fi-fianc—fewture' wife of the Ma'foy brat."

Alice, tipsy but not swaying like Peony, squinted at the boy. "Damn," she swore, the alcohol still not affecting her ability to speak, "He's half your age, Peo—"

Peony kissed her then, long and hard and sweet. Alice, sober enough to notice but too drunk to care, yielded, parting her mouth to let the fermented juices and Peony's tongue in.

Alice's first kiss was with one of her best friends, with a girl, tasted of sweet ice wine and canapés, and ended as a heap of pink and black silk and satin and lace on the floor.

* * *

In fifth year, the four of them were made prefects of their respective houses. This surprised everyone, Alice most of all, considering her tendency to get into fights and the subsequent detentions. However, she had the entire Slytherin house wound around her fist, so there might have been some logic in the decision. Prefects were leaders, and Alice could lead; she led with an iron fist. 

In fifth year, Charlie resigned from Quidditch; that, on top of his prefect duties, was making it too difficult to keep up with his studies. It was the last year Gryffindor won before Harry Potter arrived.

Alice didn't resign, despite her prefect duties. Quidditch made her happy, and she was willing to put forth twice, three times, the effort into her studies if need be just so that she could keep playing and being happy.

Charlie did play in the first match of the season, though, the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Alice made Charlie stick around for one last official match. The last test to see which one was the better seeker.

If asked, neither Alice nor Charlie can remember who won. All they remember is the usual ecstasy they feel with flying, the adrenaline rush, and the massive hangover they had the next day.

That night, instead of celebrating or mourning with their teammates and house, Charlie and Alice drank smuggled firewhiskey to their last Quidditch match and sang drunkenly afterwards.

* * *

When Alice was in sixth year she dated a seventh year boy, house she-can't-remember-for-the-life-of-her. When he tried to get under her robes she kneed him in the balls and elbowed him in the head. She turned her back on Love and a blind eye when Charlie and Peony went after her ex-boyfriend. If she couldn't have a lover who wanted her for more than her body then she wouldn't have one at all. 

When Charlie was in sixth year he thought he might love Alice. He didn't know for sure so he stopped thinking about it and tried to love other girls. So much easier that way.

When Peony was in sixth year she knew she loves Alice. She is willing to let Alice love whoever she wants (as long as it isn't Weasley), so long as she got to punish those who just want to use Alice to feed their own lust. So much easier that way.

When Chiaki was in sixth year he knew he liked Alice very much but did not love her. He had never been in love and never expected to be, though wanted to be someday. The sweetest love he never knew died along with his baby sister. He can imagine being in love, because he knows that somewhere else, in a world without a Mizuko-Jizo for his baby sister, he loves Alice. It is in these moments that he knew that he just might one day, even if it is not Alice.

So when Alice broke up with her boyfriend Alice and Chiaki blatantly ignored Charlie and Peony dragging the seventh year to a remote part of the building and the ensuing screams.

It was the first time Charlie and Peony ever got along while in the same room.

* * *

When Alice, Charlie, Chiaki, and Peony left Hogwarts they headed their separate ways. Charlie went straight to Romania, having wanted to be a dragon keeper ever since he saw the beasts in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. Chiaki moved back into his old bedroom and got a job as a mediwizard at St. Mungo's, Flooing to work every morning. Peony grabbed the first Portkey out of England and landed several Portkeys later on the west coast of Canada, the farthest from England her homesickness would let her and got a job as a seamstress in Victoria, British Columbia's magical neighborhood. 

Alice disappeared after a row with her aunt. No one knew where she had gone until just over a year later, when she showed up at the dragon reservation in Romania, travel-worn and smiling and looking for a job. It turned out she traveled across Europe, going from relative to relative, then, as relatives close to Romania grew scarce, staying at various youth hostels, magical and Muggle alike. She didn't have letters and/or postcards never sent, but she did have a journal, filled with entries, pictures, and various slips of paper and parchment saying various things, which she let be passed about after she reached the reservation and bathed.

* * *

One part that was kept out of her journal: her fourth confidant, Remus Lupin. 

They first met in a pub somewhere in Southern England. Alice was drunk and upset from her row with her aunt, and Remus was the bartender, one of the many jobs he had and couldn't keep, and too tired and miserable from the recent full moon to resist. Misery breeds strange things, and Alice was surprisingly persuasive when inhibited.

Alice lost her virginity to a man more than a decade older, and Remus deflowered an upset, drunk girl who wanted to be lost in sweat and heat and to forget the day and night.

And because that night might not be forgotten, Remus informed Alice of his lycanthropy. Because wizard law dictates that werewolves are not allowed to have children and if that night was not to be forgotten then Alice could not have the physical reminder.

So Alice borrowed money from Lorina and bought two-way mirrors for herself and Remus, with a gold frame because of the "wolf thing." Just in case.

Remus was the only person Alice kept in contact with when she traveled across Europe. Sometimes they would meet somewhere and just talk, never mentioning that night outright but letting it play along the edges of their conversation since that night could be forgotten. But it wasn't.

Alice never mentions having met Remus Lupin, one of the infamous Marauders, and Remus never mentions having met the girl voted 'most likely to have been dragged to the stake by a screaming mob if born three centuries before' for her year.

So when the Order of the Phoenix reconvened for the first time in years people were very confused when Alice and Remus seemed to have known each other for years.

They never explained why. And never will.

* * *

When Alice got a job working at the dragon reservation in the Reconnaissance Squad and in the Research Division, Chiaki came out to Romania. He came two weeks after Alice began work, to treat the third-degree burns the Muggleborn received after scouting an angry Romanian Longhorn female; she wouldn't let anyone else treat her, and no one could treat her but a fully trained mediwizard. 

As Chiaki knitted her nerve endings back together, Alice, between screams, asked Chiaki if he would stay. They needed a mediwizard badly, if the scars and burns the other members had were any indication, one that could repair damaged nerves and heal away horrendous burns.

Chiaki considered this and agreed. God only knew how much he needed to leave home. It isn't considered socially healthy for a grown man to be residentially dependent on his parents. Not that he had much of a social life to begin with.

* * *

For a while Charlie, Alice, and Chiaki all lived in the dormitory on the reservation. They didn't like it much, but it was free, clean, and there was food. Eventually, though, they became tired of the rules and decided to get an apartment together. 

For several months they saved their money, but when Charlie was promoted to Dragon Keeper they immediately went out and rented the first apartment they came across.

It was in Braşov, in an apartment building run by a middle-age couple who had trouble with English, and even more trouble with Chiaki's accent. The apartment was cheap, small, and came with wallpaper that might have driven them all insane if it weren't for the fact they already were mental.

None of them felt like pointing out that there was only one bedroom.

* * *

After some time the three of them became _something_. What exactly they became no one could tell, not even them. All anyone knows is that they shouldn't ask about it, shouldn't think about it. So relations ignore the way the trio hold hands when they are together, with Alice in the middle, and coworkers turn away at their PDA, especially when all three are going at it at the same time. 

They weren't two couples sharing the same partner, whichever way it went (no one was quite sure about Chiaki and Charlie), they weren't a threesome, and they weren't lovers (though they did make love to each other). They were just in love.

Alice loves Charlie like flowers love sun and light, and she loves Chiaki like flowers love rain and water. She loves them like flowers love everything they need to live.

Chiaki loves Charlie and Alice as though he's afraid that one day he's going to wake up and they won't be there and he'll hear the sound of the world falling apart. They are his anchors to reality, the only things that he knows are truly there, all that is keeping him from fading away.

Charlie loves Alice and Chiaki simply because he loves Alice and Chiaki. This simple logic confuses everyone but him and some man he met who was higher than a kite, because they can't understand the idea of simply loving a person without any reason but love.

* * *

Alice first heard of Everclear through Peony. Having been born to a proudly-so Pureblood family, she took to Muggle life with the ease and grace attributed to those who decide to go the "Sink or Swim" method of adjusting to a new, strange culture. This meant that it took her several months to get into the swing of things; this also meant that she is now very good at Memory Charms. 

She found a lot of things infuriating, like traffic lights and televisions, and still does. But she likes Muggle music. She had never liked the Weird Sisters or Celestina Warbeck, but there was something about Metallica and Pink Floyd that made her start hanging around Muggle music stores after work.

Peony sent Alice _Sparkle and Fade_ when she heard that Alice just received a teaching position at Hogwarts, along with a bottle of Liquid Jolly Rancher and a note saying that she should find a way to play the CD at Hogwarts and get it patented.

Alice didn't know what to think of it but kept the CD anyway. If anything, she would have something to do between grading essays and creating lesson plans.

She still has something to do, despite getting the CD to play in a stereo she fished out of the garbage and Chiaki tried to fix. She has to figure out how to get the blasted CD out now.

* * *

When Alice told her sister that she was returning to England to teach at Hogwarts her aunt grew angry. Alice hadn't spoken with her since their last row, the same row she wanted to forget that night she lost her maidenhead to Remus. Her aunt wanted to move her mother to a psychiatric ward and Alice wouldn't stand for it. Nor did Lorina. 

While Alice never spoke to her aunt again, Lorina continued, just to make sure that their mother was never sent to a psychiatric ward.

When Alice returned to her childhood home to speak with Lorina, who had moved into the house with her new husband, Charlotte and Alice began to fight again, this time on the years of silence. At that point Alice was almost considering forgiving her aunt for suggesting moving her mother, but this new row just renewed her anger.

The Merle family doesn't fight with fists and loud words, but with frosty silences and doors being shut too quietly. Alice knows how to fight with her hands and how to tear people up with her eyes and false smiles. And how to hide the wounds she receives.

* * *

When Alice first met Snape she was eleven and he was her professor. She didn't like him much then, but she didn't hate him either. 

She started hating him when he made a disparaging comment about Remus. It would have been OK for Snape to insult her, because she was there to take it and send back an insult of her own. But Snape insulted a man who wasn't there, the man who had held her when she was upset and took the full force of her inner storm and survived.

Snape didn't hate her when he first taught her. To him, she was just that strange Slytherin girl who was friends with a Weasley brat and had too much pride in herself to have any for her house. She barely registered in his mind, being proficient enough in potions to not bare the brunt of his anger and not good enough to deserve his praise.

This is what made him start hating her: After insulting Lupin she marched over to him and kicked him squarely between the legs. With pointed boots, nonetheless.

This also made Alice a favorite of Minerva McGonagall, who had previously despaired over the girl-now-woman's defiency in Transfiguration.

* * *

Alice can remember when she first heard of Harry Potter. She was ten, and it was in a letter from Lorina. She wrote about a story of a kid, a baby, who ended one of the most fearsome times in the history of the European wizarding world and then vanished, hidden away from vengeful followers in the Muggle world. She was fourteen when she first saw Harry Potter, the newspaper having printed an article about a "Boy Who Lived" sighting in a Muggle park with a photograph. a blurry, moving photo, the only image to ever surface to the public eye since the downfall of You-Know-Who. 

In the photograph was a small, thin boy of eight with round black glasses held together with tape and messy dark hair. How anyone knew that this boy was the "Boy Who Lived" was anyone's guess. There was a mark on his forehead that could either have been the famed scar or just some bad photography.

Alice had looked at the photograph so often that it eventually crumbled to pieces. But she doesn't need the photograph to recall it. She knows it inside and out.

The child moved around the photograph, oblivious to the viewers and edges, as he would sometimes disappear from the frame. Occasionally he would crouch and study the ground, then stand and start walking again. He moved like someone who was looking for something but wasn't sure what it was.

There was something about Harry Potter himself that nagged at her mind, connected synapses she never knew she had and couldn't identify. Which bothered her and compelled her to study the photograph till it turned to yellow dust.

At twenty-three Alice understands what her mind was trying to tell her. Looking at Harry Potter now, sitting in her class, her eyes see what her mind used to say and no longer needs to; the fog of childhood and hopeful doubt is gone now. Harry Potter is still small and thin, too small and too thin for a boy his age. He has always been too small and too thin for his age. Just looking at Harry brings the older sister out of her in ways she never thought possible.

And sometimes, sometimes, she just wanted to grab him by the shoulders and say, "I know that you were abused so why won't you tell anyone?"

But she can't. And she can't ask for him to be removed from his relatives care, or at least have it looked into, either. There are laws, blood stupid laws, saying that no inquiries about the care of a minor would be made unless said minor was to bring it up him- or herself.

It is at these moments that she wishes she were a teacher in a Muggle school, in the Muggle world. And that she could beat up the fool who came up with that law.

* * *

Alice doesn't like chess much, but she can play it, and play it well. Chess is a game of strategy, of manipulation, of art and war. Alice can manipulate anyone; she sees people and the buttons to press and the places to poke to make them do what she wants them to do. She nips and claws and touches at people's souls, knowingly and unintentionally, and they bend to her will. There is only one person who is not hypnotized by her gray-blue eyes, and that is because in Carol Merle's world, Alice Merle does not exist; Alice exists, but not the woman her daughter has become, a woman who can take the universe and mold it to her desires. But that is OK, because it is easier for Alice to keep her mother safe from a harsh reality when her mother refuses to live in it. 

And that is why Alice is the Queen. She is the protector, the mother, the sister, the empress. She will move the length of the world and the world itself to protect those most important to her. She has many Kings in her life, many things she would die and live for.

She is the Queen with love as a shield and pride her sword who knows what she must protect.

* * *

And that's the end of filler for Alice Merle. This was far too long. And just for clarification: when it's past tense, it happened before _When Spring Comes_; present tense is _When Spring Comes_. 

Notes:

1 – The title: 'Alice' is derived from 'Adelaide', which contains elements meaning 'noble' and 'type'. 'Merle' means 'Blackbird' and is an actual surname.

2 – Dandelion Head – when the boy is teasing Alice about what time it was it stems from this: that white puff that forms on a dandelion is called a dandelion clock. The number of blows to blow out the dandelion clock is said to be the time of day.

3 – Summer ice, as describe by my driving education instructor, are slick, wet patches of road during the summer.

4 – About Chiaki… he plays another role. I might do an interlude or prelude with him some day. For now though, just wonder.

5 – Hufflepuff is kind of like the leftover house. "Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest and taught them all she knew" (taken from the OotP Sorting Hat song). As for Ravenclaws, read this: **htt p/ static-pixie .liv ejourna l .co m/328 4.ht ml** (take out the spaces because FFN hates URLs). It's a well written essay on Ravenclaws.

6 – it's not that I made Charlie an idiot, though it may seem that way. It's just after reading the Discworld series (more specifically, the City Watch books), I have been mentally casting Charlie Weasley as Carrot Ironfoundersson, "the Disc's most linear thinker" and a fellow redhead. Go here: **ht tp /en. w iki ped ia. org/wiki /Carrot I ronfo unders son** for a better description of Carrot, and you might see why I've made Charlie so simple (take out the spaces because FFN hates URLs).

7 – This is book canon, remember. In the book the robes are just plain black. Harry and Ron made the same mistake as Charlie in their second year (when they mistook Penelope Clearwater to be a Slytherin). There is no house tie, no sweater vest, no shield on the robes, or any of that stuff scene in the movies. The only way to tell one house from another is either by knowing, seeing a badge (prefect's badge, for example), or some other sort of thing that hasn't been mentioned. And if you want to say a scarf (which may or may not be book canon), it's still September, too warm for students to be wearing scarves.

8 – Mizuko-Jizo – the most common from of Jizo today, he is the guardian of aborted or miscarried babies, and children who die prematurely. For more information see **h ttp / ww w. o nmarkprod uct ions. com /ht ml/ jizo -bosatsu -japan .s html** (take out the spaces because FFN hates URLs).As for what it means, hope that it comes clear later.

9 – Liquid Jolly Rancher – a mixed drink made with Mountain Dew, jolly ranchers, and _Everclear_ alcohol.

10 – This law that I came up with in the introspection of Harry Potter is my reasoning behind why Harry is still at his relatives, even though it's clear he has been abused, or at least neglected. Harry has never come out and said, "I've been abused/neglected by my relatives," so nothing gets done because no one can until he does, which he won't. He's only asked if he could leave but never given a reason why beyond familial hatred.

And cookies to anyone who can get all the Alice in Wonderland references.

And if you didn't read my profile or the note at the end of the last chapter, I'll say it here: **I'm revising the previous chapters of _When Spring Comes_. There are a ton of mistakes, and my present ideas for the story don't work anymore. So watch out for that.**


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